I am Faith, Princess of the Bathroom

Most of you are probably thinking, “Yeah, so? I do that every day (or week, or whatever).”

But if you read my post a couple of weeks ago on Things We Fight About, you probably will have gathered that Simon does the bulk of the bathroom cleaning.

I know, it’s pathetic.

But I hate cleaning the bathroom. And more than I hate cleaning the bathroom, I hate having a dirty bathroom. I know this defies logic, but I think the reason I suffer temporary paralysis at the thought of cleaning the bathroom is that the thought of touching the dirtiness in the dirty bathroom is just too much for me to bear.

However.

Simon and I had a conversation before we got married about having children. We knew we both wanted them, and Simon asked me if I wanted to stay home with them. I told him I did, but that I also wanted to do some kind of work while I stayed home. You know, something creative. He thought that sounded great. Then he asked me, “Do you think if you stay home with our kids, you should be responsible for the bulk of the house cleaning?”

“Well,” I replied. “I don’t think I should be responsible for all of the house cleaning. Because taking care of kids is a big job. But, as I will be home all day, I think it’s only fair that I try to do as much as I can during that time. And I like the idea of being the keeper of our house.”

We agreed this sounded great, and then we got married (not just like that, but you know).

For the first few years of our marriage, it was a non-issue. We were both working full-time, so we shared the housekeeping duties pretty much 50/50.

Then we had Adlai.

And while my intentions were good, I had overlooked one minor detail: I am a horrible housekeeper.

Really.

Absolutely diabolical.

My parents can vouch for this.

My dad used to make me stay in my room until it was clean, but it didn’t work because I would happily play in there for hours.

Then he tried locking me out of my room because I hadn’t cleaned it. I’ll be honest, I never really understood this one; how was I supposed to clean it if he wouldn’t let me in?

So, now that I’m married, and have a little, boy, and stay home, it’s time to put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. Simon is absolutely amazing and I am so grateful to have a husband who quite happily (well, moderately happily) pitches in. And, I’m happy to say that, over the years, I have gradually improved at several housekeeping jobs: the laundry, vacuuming, and, most of all, decorating.

But the bathroom has remained my nemesis.

Until today.

The shower was dirty, the toilet was dirty, the sink was dirty, and I had had enough.

So I put on my ugliest clothes, pulled my hair up, and went to work.

The shower and sink were done without too much fuss.

But then, the toilet. My Everest.

I took a couple of deep breaths (but not too deep. Ew.), quoted some scripture, and dove in (you know, in a manner of speaking).

I nearly threw up twice.

But that thing is shining like a beacon in the night. Like a lighthouse guiding home a weary sailor. Like…

Well, like a really clean toilet.

And I feel like donning my bulletproof bracelets and saving the world from dirt and soapscum.